Bombshell For The Black Sheep (Southern Secrets Book 3)

by Janice Maynard

  But it was the long view that worried her. Like the deadly undertow out at the beach, Hartley had the power to drag her under...to tear apart the life she had built for herself. She was proud of her independence. She didn’t lean on any man for support.

  The danger lay in the fact that without even trying, he made her want to throw caution to the wind. When she was with him—and also when she wasn’t—the smart, careful, cautious side of her brain shut down.

  Even now, all she could think about was how much she wanted to share a bed with him again. Naked and wanton. Losing herself in the elemental rush of sexual desire. Hartley made her alive. And she loved it.

  But with great joy came the potential for great heartbreak.

  With the way she was feeling, it was too much trouble to cook anything. Instead, she opted for cereal and a banana. A cup of hot tea warmed her cold fingers. When she was done with breakfast, she carried a second serving of tea to the living room and curled up on the couch.

  Cradling the china cup in her hands, she debated calling off tonight’s dinner. Who was she kidding? If Hartley came over, she would sleep with him. Wouldn’t she? Did she have it in her to say no?

  Sitting here alone, it was easy to see all the problems.

  The Tarletons were Charleston royalty. They and J.B.’s family, the Vaughans, had endowed libraries and funded hospital wings and sat on the boards of half a dozen philanthropic organizations across the city. Their bloodlines went back to pre–civil war times.

  Fiona appreciated her own worth, but she was a pragmatist. Hartley appeared to have the attention span of a moth. He was interested in Fiona at the moment, because his life was in crisis. And because they had shared a couple of encounters that had all the earmarks of a romantic comedy.

  Life wasn’t like that, though. In the long run, the chances that he would actually come to love Fiona were slim. Maybe she was his flavor of the month right now, but when the novelty paled, he would be off on another adventure, with another woman, and Fiona might be left with a broken heart if she were foolish enough to fall for him.

  Despite all her hashing and rehashing of the facts, she couldn’t bring herself to text him and say don’t come. How pathetic was that? She desperately wanted to see him. And then, of course, there was her curiosity about where he had been all these months.

  He had never struck her as a liar. If he had explanations to make today, she had a hunch they would be true. Fantastical maybe, but true.

  She finished her tea and stood, only to have the room whirl drunkenly.

  With a little gasp, she reached behind her for the arm of the sofa and sat down gingerly. Had she poured bad milk in her cereal? Her stomach flipped and flopped. What was going on?

  Five minutes later, she tried again. This time the familiar outlines of her furniture stayed put, but the nausea grew worse. At the last moment, she made a dash for the bathroom and threw up, emptying her stomach again and again until she was so weak she could barely stagger to her bedroom.

  She curled up in the center of the mattress, shaking and woozy, and pulled the edge of the comforter over her.

  Then it hit her. A possibility that had never once crossed her mind...though it should have. Was she pregnant? She’d had these odd episodes for several weeks now...had written them off as a virus or inner ear trouble or low blood sugar.

  Her heart hammered in her chest. Her periods were not regular...never had been. At her gynecologist’s urging, Fiona typically noted them on a paper calendar she kept in the bedside table.

  When she thought she could move without barfing, she reached for the drawer, extracted what she needed and stared numbly at the unmarked boxes. Back one month. Then two. Then three. At last, she found it. A brief notation in her own handwriting. She’d had her period about ten days before Hartley last showed up at her house.

  Dear Lord.

  He’d used protection. Hadn’t even balked at the idea when she told him she wasn’t on the pill. In fact, he’d used protection that night after the wedding, too. He’d been a generous, thoughtful lover.

  But no method of birth control was 100 hundred percent. And now that she thought about it, three months ago, they had made love multiple times during the night when they were both half-asleep. Had they messed up? Was there one of those times when his body had claimed hers skin to skin?

  Her teeth started to chatter. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not until she was sure. He was going to be at her house in a few hours. With a moan of mortification, she buried her face in the pillow.

  Yet even as she trembled with fear, excitement and happiness bloomed in her chest. A baby? Was she really pregnant? This could be the future she had always dreamed of...the family she so desperately wanted.

  Hartley didn’t have to be involved, but he had to be told.

  Four

  Hartley felt like a sailboat with a broken mast. He was home to stay. His time away had always been temporary. But his siblings hadn’t known that, because he hadn’t told them.

  He’d left Charleston in order to be a hero. To fix things. And he’d succeeded in part. All the answers to all the questions had been found, thanks to his extended visit in Europe. Ironically, those answers were too dangerous and painful to explain to Jonathan and Mazie.

  Had it all been worth it? Or had he ruined his relationships for nothing? On the day after his father’s funeral, he found himself going in circles, or at the very least, becalmed.

  What was he going to do with himself? If Jonathan wasn’t keen or willing to have him back at Tarleton Shipping, Hartley was lost.

  His enormous home adjacent to the world-class golf resort was not him. Never had been. At least that was one thing he could change. He spent the day taking care of small maintenance issues, and then called a Realtor and set up an appointment for the following morning.

  He was going to sell his house. Immediately.

  Maybe he would rent something in Fiona’s neighborhood while he figured out his next step. She couldn’t help him revamp his life—that was up to him—but sharing her bed would keep him sane. If she allowed it.

  By the time four thirty rolled around, he was hot and sweaty but feeling pretty damn good about himself. He jumped in the shower, humming with more enthusiasm than expertise. With the prospect of seeing Fiona tonight, he had plenty of reasons to be upbeat.

  His life had taken some unexpected turns, but he would get himself back on course. His siblings were all he had. Fiona was an alluring distraction from his painful family situation. Maybe it was wrong to pursue her. Maybe it was cowardly. Because if he used her and walked away again, he knew in his gut the damage would be permanent.

  It would be smarter and kinder to stay away.

  Even so, at ten till six, he pulled up in front of her charming home, grabbed the gifts he had brought and locked the car. He thought he saw the edge of a curtain twitch, but maybe not.

  When he knocked, she answered almost immediately. “Hi, Hartley. You’re right on time.” She was wearing a daffodil-yellow sundress that bared her shoulders and emphasized her modest breasts.

  He kissed her cheek. “These are for you.”

  She glanced at the label of his three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine and raised an eyebrow. “A little over-the-top for homemade spaghetti, don’t you think? What if we save it for a special occasion? I made iced tea. And there’s beer in the fridge...the kind you like.”

  He was ridiculously pleased that she remembered his preferences. A tiny detail, but a good sign...he hoped. “Sounds like a plan,” he said. “Shall I put the flowers in water?” He’d brought her yellow and white roses, a summery bouquet that suited her home and her personality.

  “Yes...thanks. You’ll find a vase underneath the sink.”

  The conversation was stilted for two people who had seen each other naked. He wanted to say to hell with dinner and tak
e her straight to the bedroom. “Did you have a good day painting?”

  She whirled around, her eyes wide. “Why do you ask that?”

  He cocked his head. “You told me you’re starting a big new project.”

  “Oh.” She flushed, her gaze skating away from his. “It was fine. Beginnings are always hard.”

  “Are you okay, Fee?” Now that he thought about it, she seemed pale...and nervous. She hadn’t been this skittish the first afternoon they met. At that endless wedding rehearsal.

  “Of course I’m okay.” Her voice was muffled, because she had stuck her head and shoulders halfway into the fridge.

  He glanced at the stove. “Do I need to turn off the heat? The spaghetti is boiling over.”

  “Oh, damn.” She whirled around and rescued the pasta just in time.

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “Fiona. Take a breath.”

  She shrugged out of his grip and put her hands to her cheeks. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m a little nervous about having you here.”

  There it was again. That raw honesty. He winced. “I can go. If that’s what you want.”

  They stared at each other across the small kitchen. “No,” she said at last. “I don’t want you to go.”

  Thank God. He reached for her hand and linked his fingers with hers. “I swear I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  At last, she smiled at him. It was wobbly, but it was a smile. “I find that highly unlikely.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here. Really, Hartley. I am.”

  His hands trembled with the urge to touch her. Coming here was wrong. He knew it. But he couldn’t walk away from her a third time. Even if all they had was sexual chemistry, he wanted to erase his past transgressions. He needed to prove he could be trusted.

  “Well, that makes two of us,” he said heartily. “Now, tell me how I can help with dinner...”

  * * *

  Fiona was embarrassed and relieved at the same time. Hartley had taken her behavior in stride, it seemed. They consumed the simple meal and shared innocuous conversation without incident. Though she felt as if her secret was written on her face, she was clearly overreacting. There was no way for him to know the truth.

  She had to get a grip.

  “Let’s go to the living room,” she said when they had cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher side by side. “If you’re going to bare your soul, I want a comfy spot.”

  Hartley followed her, chuckling. “I never promised that.”

  She curled up on a chair that was only big enough for one. No point in tempting fate. “You don’t have to do this,” she said.

  Hartley shrugged. “You’re the perfect listener. A disinterested bystander.”

  Fiona’s heart sank. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear at all. Hartley hadn’t come to her tonight as a trusted confidante. She was about to be his therapist or his shrink. The distinction was painful.

  She swallowed her hurt pride and reminded herself that Hartley wasn’t her Prince Charming. Never would be. “Start at the beginning,” she said.

  Now he was the one to look uncomfortable. Maybe he hadn’t rehearsed what he was going to say. “Well...”

  “I’ll refresh your memory,” she offered helpfully. “After the wedding, I invited you here to my house. We both knew what was going to happen. It happened three times that night, and when I woke up, you were gone.”

  “Geez, Fiona. You make it sound so sleazy.” He paced restlessly.

  “How would you describe it?”

  “I had airline reservations for the morning after the wedding. I was supposed to be on a flight out of Charleston at 7 a.m. You were a complication I never expected. I didn’t know how to explain.”

  “Ah.”

  “It’s true,” he said.

  She stared at him soberly. “Where were you going?”

  “London first. I met with a private investigator who used to work for Interpol.”

  Fiona wrinkled her nose. “I think you’ve left out some pertinent details. Why would you need a PI?”

  Hartley hunched his shoulders, his expression bleak. “Two days before the wedding, I received a blackmail note.”

  “Seriously?” Her skepticism was warranted, surely.

  “The letter threatened to go public with a painful Tarleton family secret if I didn’t give the blackmailer a million dollars.”

  “Hartley. This sounds like a spy novel.”

  “What you don’t know is that my mother has been living in an inpatient mental health facility in Vermont since my siblings and I were preteens. A few people in Charleston know the truth, but not many.”

  “So you decided to do what?”

  “My father’s health was failing. Jonathan had been working his ass off at Tarleton Shipping, trying to keep the business afloat. My sister spent her adolescence without a mother. Our family has suffered more than our share of hard times. I didn’t want the gossip.”

  “Everybody knows you can’t pay off a blackmailer. Surely you didn’t.”

  “Of course not. But I needed the money in hand just in case. I wasn’t sure what else this mystery person might be willing to do. And I didn’t know why we were targets.”

  “What did Jonathan say?”

  Hartley’s neck flushed. “I didn’t tell him. I thought I could handle everything on my own. In retrospect, that wasn’t too smart.”

  “I have to agree. Did you have a million dollars lying around in the bank?”

  “Not exactly. I’ve told you about Jonathan. He’s a play-by-the-book kind of guy. Never cut corners. Never bend the rules. If I had told him why I needed the money, he would have asked a ton of questions and then shut me down. I couldn’t take that chance.”

  Her eyes widened. “What did you do, Hartley?”

  He shrugged. “I took the money out of our account at work. It wasn’t stealing. I own a quarter of the business.”

  “But you didn’t tell Jonathan what was going on.”

  * * *

  Hartley heard the criticism in her statement. “No. Like I said, he was under a lot of stress. I wanted to handle this grenade and defuse it. I never imagined that my brother and my father would jump to the absolute worst conclusion.”

  She shook her head slowly. “That’s a lot to ask, Hartley. Blind faith?”

  “They know me. Why would I take the money if not for a damned good reason?” It still pissed him off that he’d immediately been painted the villain. Even worse, it hurt.

  “Secrets backfire all the time.” Fiona’s expression was wry. “I can’t say that I blame them, Hartley. You didn’t trust them enough to believe you could all work together. Surely you see that was a mistake.”

  Maybe he did now. With the benefit of hindsight. “Well, I can’t undo the damage, so it’s a moot point.”

  “Mazie seems to have forgiven you.”

  “That’s only because Dad and Jonathan kept her in the dark. If she knew the truth, she’d probably give me the cold shoulder, too.”

  “Let’s circle back. So you took the money, and you went to London. What next?”

  “Eventually, I tracked the letter back to a small village in Switzerland. The blackmailer was a relative on my mother’s side. Her uncle, to be exact.”

  “Why would he want to hurt your family?”

  “That’s what I needed to know. As it turned out, he was only trying to get my attention. The letter he sent me served its purpose. It got me to Switzerland. Uncle Hans had fallen on hard times. An extended illness had wiped out his savings. He was in danger of losing his house and his dairy farm.”

  “Did you turn him over to the authorities?”

  “How could I? He was a sick man in his late seventies. Frail. No family left. I felt I owed him something.”

  “So you did
give him money.”

  “I paid off his house and put some cash in his bank account. Not much at all by our standards, but he was grateful and it made me feel better. I barely put a dent in the million. I ended up staying with Hans for a couple of months, filling in the blanks. He had a lot of stuff like family Bibles and heirlooms...things he wanted me to see. Items to pass on.”

  Fiona frowned. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Why did you come back to Charleston three months ago? And then leave again?”

  “I came back to talk to my father and my siblings about why I had been gone. I had information they needed to know. But I chickened out at the last minute. Revealing everything I had learned in Europe was a potential bomb that threatened to blow up in my face. You were the only person I saw or spoke to. After that night in your bed, I went back to Switzerland to pack up my things.”

  “And then what?”

  He shrugged, his eyes bleak with remembrance. “The uncle passed away. Rather suddenly. I found myself in the odd position of having to settle his meager estate.”

  “Even then, you didn’t talk to your family?”

  “I couldn’t. The conversation was something that needed to be handled face-to-face. But with Hans gone, I began to ask myself if it wouldn’t be better to keep everything I had learned to myself.”

  “What was this terrible secret, Hartley?”

  His jaw was carved in stone, his profile no longer the affable man she had come to know. “The woman in that facility in Vermont—the woman who no longer recognizes us because she had a complete breakdown—the woman who is the only mother we’ve ever known—is not our mother.”

  Fiona couldn’t sit still any longer. She jumped to her feet and went to him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested her cheek against his chest, inhaling the pleasant laundry scent of his crisp cotton shirt. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  He eluded her embrace and continued to wear tracks in her rug. “Apparently, when my siblings and I were toddlers, my father took our mother to Switzerland to visit her family. She hadn’t been back since they were married. They left us kids behind in Charleston with a trusted babysitter.”